


slices of a witch's life

by skatingsplits



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Gen, Tumblr Prompts, these aren't drabbles I'm a liar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-20 14:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16557761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: excerpts from the life of everyone's favourite witch; inspired by various tumblr prompts and requests





	1. date- zelda/lilith

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt: "Can you write something about Zelda and madam Satan where they’re obviously on a date to anyone watching but both pretending they’re not"
> 
> Zelda can't stand the woman she's having dinner with, that's certain. Mary Wardwell is supercilious, ridiculous and just downright infuriating. But the unfortunate fact of the matter is that the pseudo-schoolteacher doesn't seem to feel the same way about her.

  
Zelda Spellman has never been on a ‘date' in her life. She's been to luxurious balls, hedonistic dinner parties, impromptu orgies and decadent nightclubs. But she's never been on a date and she absolutely categorically is not on one now. This might, from the perspective of someone not in possession of all the facts, look like something resembling a date; two people, dressed impeccably as they eat dinner by candlelight, Zelda is fully prepared to admit that it might appear vaguely romantic. But anyone who thought that would be lacking the crucial information that the people involved absolutely can't stand each other.

  
No, that isn't quite true. Zelda can't stand the woman she's having dinner with, that's certain. Mary Wardwell is supercilious, ridiculous and just downright infuriating. But the unfortunate fact of the matter is that the pseudo-schoolteacher doesn't seem to feel the same way about her. 

  
It had started when Zelda had come home from Black Mass Black Mass to find the woman perched on the kitchen counter, feeding titbits to Vinegar Tom. She hadn't been overly pleased to find someone else fussing over her familiar but any recrimination would surely have led to a longer conversation that Zelda absolutely didn't have the emotional energy for so Miss Wardwell's antics had been ignored. By this point, Zelda had sadly grown so accustomed to finding Mary just hanging around her house that ignoring her had become second nature but this time the other witch had beamed at her fondly before swinging herself down off the kitchen counter, stopping down to pet the dog's head and slipping out of the front door without a word. It wouldn't normally have bothered Zelda; would have delighted her, in fact, that it hadn't taken any effort on her part to get the woman to leave, if it weren't for the funny feeling she had that Mary Wardwell had been waiting to see her before she left. It leaves her completely unsettled and Zelda doesn't like being unsettled.

  
The next unsettling encounter they'd had was when Zelda had opened the door to find the woman smiling her usual wide smile but carrying a strange tubular bag instead of her normal crocodile-skin satchel. For a moment, Zelda had forgotten to be hostile as she'd stared.

  
‘Is that a body bag?’ despite herself, she'd been curious and let the uninvited guest inside with none of her usual resistance.

  
‘I brought you a present’ Mary had held out the bag like a very demented version of a fairy godmother and they'd stood in a stalemate for almost a minute before Zelda had given in and taken it.

  
‘You realise most people bring wine?’

  
‘Don't you like it?’ the other witch's face had fallen so dramatically that you'd have thought Zelda had told her that ridiculously tight dresses had been outlawed by the Dark Lord. Zelda had just rolled her eyes and walked away but the acceptance of the present had apparently signified something unspoken to Mary; after that, every time she visited the Spellman household she'd started trailing around after Zelda like a cat waiting to be fed until she'd snapped.

  
‘Can I do something for you or are you just going to follow me like a spectre until one of us drops dead?’ if the woman didn't stop smiling at her, Zelda really thought she might whack her over the head with the nearest blunt instrument and make sure her body stayed far away from the Cain Pit.

  
‘Will you have dinner with me?’ is really not the response she'd expected. For a start, Zelda's a little surprised to learn that Mary Wardwell actually eats and doesn't just survive on the kick she gets from irritating other witches. Secondly, surely even someone as untouchably self-confident as that couldn't actually think that any of Zelda's past behaviour had indicated that she'd want to spend a second of her leisure time with the woman, let alone have dinner with her? Zelda's brain collapses in on itself when she gets to thirdly because not a single thing about this doesn't require questioning. As if the universe was challenging itself to make the situation even odder, in the silence as she's trying to get her mouth to work again, Mary tells her a date, time and location, presses her lips to Zelda's cheek and once again slips out into the night without saying goodbye.

  
Stunned is not a strong enough word. Horrified might be closer to the mark, traumatised even, and yet here she is, sitting in this booth at a stifling mortal restaurant with her hair curled and her second-best cocktail dress on, trying desperately to read a menu and ignore Mary Wardwell's foot creeping up her calf. She really isn't succeeding.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always open for prompts on tumblr at zeldaspellmann!


	2. discovery- zelda/blackwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling the tears escaping from her eyes as a middle-aged woman listened to an insipid song and wailed about her husband’s infidelity was dreadful but it pales in comparison to how she feels when her sister walks in just as the High Priest of the Church of Night has started fastening his shirt buttons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on the prompt: "Could you do one where Hilda and Sabrina find out about Zelda and Father Blackwood?? (Assuming that they continue their affair after Lady Blackwoods death (basically set after the events of Season 1)"

Funnily enough, this would never have happened if she hadn’t taken the baby. Hilda has refused to have anything to do with the stolen child, so it’s Zelda who’s up well past the witching hour every single night, rocking her back to sleep, singing snatches of songs she only vaguely remembers from her own childhood. It’s a learning curve; Hilda had done most of the work when Sabrina was tiny, leaving Zelda to act the disciplinarian instead of the nurturer. Nevertheless, she finds herself relishing it, she’s as proud of being able to get Genevieve to stop crying as she is when she casts an excellent trapping spell. A side effect of raising a child effectively on her own, however, is that Zelda has forgotten what it feels like not to be mind-numbingly exhausted.

So far this has manifested itself in a lot of little ways ranging from coming  _this_  close to putting Ambrose in the Cain Pit for playing his Dean Martin records too loudly, accidentally putting hemlock in her morning coffee and (worst of all) actually crying at an appallingly awful film celebrating the False God’s winter holiday that Sabrina had been watching. Worst of all until now, that is. Feeling the tears escaping from her eyes as a middle-aged woman listened to an insipid song and wailed about her husband’s infidelity was dreadful but it pales in comparison to how she feels when her sister walks in just as the High Priest of the Church of Night has started fastening his shirt buttons.

It’s entirely her own fault but it feels just a little better to be able to blame the sleepless nights for shattering her willpower. Their excuse of Satanic devotion may be paper thin but it’s still their excuse and they never normally do this in the house, never normally just go to bed together without any of the… preliminaries

It’s just today, Zelda had been too tired to play cat and mouse. So he’d had her, fast and hot, on the divan in the parlour and she’s just contemplating the positive effects of an orgasm on one’s mental state when the door opens and she feels her heart drop into her stomach.

‘Father Blackwood was just…’ she begins, thanking Satan in his infinite benevolence that they hadn’t stopped for her to remove her clothes but her little sister cuts her off.

‘I think I know what Father Blackwood was doing’ if it was possible to die from mortification, Zelda would be a rigid corpse on the floor. She doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing; having Hilda catch her engaged in a torrid affair with the man whose baby she has secreted in the upstairs bedroom, or having Faustus seeing her being scolded by her sister like a schoolgirl.

‘Father Blackwood was leaving’ he sees fit to chime in and Zelda can tell he’s far more amused than he should be so she shoots daggers at him with her eyes as he does just that. Hilda waits until the door slams shut to step forward, look Zelda in the eye and, in a move that stuns Zelda more than it would have if her sister had hit her with a killing hex, pull her into a hug.

‘I’m not going to pry, Zelds, but I hate that you felt you couldn’t tell me’ that was not what she’d been expecting to hear. Recrimination, worry, even tears would have all been more predictable reactions; Hilda has never been very fond of the High Priest who’d replaced their brother and since she’d been excommunicated, all respect for the man had flown out of the window. Despite herself, Zelda feels a tiny flicker of warmth in her chest but she steps back and regards her sister with disapproval.

‘Don’t be so dramatic, Hilda. I’m sleeping with the High Priest, not running a secret drugs cartel, there was nothing to talk about’ Hilda matches her stare blink for blink, obviously not taken in for a second by her sister’s unbothered facade, but Zelda turns on her heel to take refuge in her bedroom and if her eyes start leaking a little on the way up the stairs, only the sleepless nights are to blame.

 


	3. distraction- zelda/blackwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Not that I'm not fascinated by your domestic troubles, Zelda' he drawls, teeth nipping briefly at the soft flesh of her thigh to make sure she's listening ‘But perhaps we could discuss it at a later date, possibly one when I'm not otherwise engaged?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on the prompt: 'Just some Zelda/Blackwood anything? Maybe them having a conversation about Sabrina?'

'It's beyond me, utterly beyond me why she won't just sign' Zelda complains, her fingers tapping a contemplative rhythm on the sofa beside her. ‘I've told her a million times, she'll feel a hundred times better about everything when she does, the Dark Lord will see fit to ease all her doubts if she just signs the Book of the Beast. And I was sure that once she'd been to the Academy, she'd be rushing back as soon as she was able. When I was her age, a pack of wild centaurs couldn't have kept me away'. 

‘Yes, so you've said' Faustus speaks through gritted teeth, irritation written as plain across his face as the verses of the Satanic Bible. Normally, he'd be delighted that Zelda had seen fit to confide in him about her niece, eager to suggest a course of action for her to manipulate Sabrina into bending to the Dark Lord’s will and return Faustus to his master's good graces. Currently, however, his head is buried in Zelda Spellman's cunt and he does think she could be paying just a little more attention. 

‘Not that I'm not fascinated by your domestic troubles, Zelda' he drawls, teeth nipping briefly at the soft flesh of her thigh to make sure she's listening ‘But perhaps we could discuss it at a later date, possibly one when I'm not otherwise engaged?’ 

She glances down at him with an amused expression, obviously tickled by his irritation, and languidly waves her hand in an acquiescent motion for him to continue what he was doing. Really, as though she was doing him a favour. He growls his annoyance but then sets to his task in earnest. it's only a matter of minutes before she's panting his name and pulling at his hair so hard he's surprised it isn't coming out in handfuls, while he holds her thighs in place so they don't come up to choke him (he's learnt that lesson after the first time). He stays where he is until her hips have stopped bucking and then rises from his knees to sit beside her still-heaving body on the divan. She's always eager to kiss him after he's done that and she sits up to do so now, hungrily licking the taste of herself from his mouth. It will never cease to amuse him how the thing that turns Zelda Spellman on the most is herself. He has very fond memories of the time he fucked her in front of the large gilt-edged mirror in his office; she hadn't looked at him once, eyes locked on her own flushed chest and glassy eyes as she came so hard he'd had to put a hand over her mouth lest passersby came running in thinking he'd engaged in a little impromptu ritual sacrifice. 

When she pulls back, her pointed tongue darts out to polish her lower lip and if he wasn't already achingly hard, that would have done the trick. Smiling serenely, Zelda slides her hand up his thigh and bends her head to nip at his earlobe.

‘Now, about Sabrina...’ she begins and Faustus seriously thinks that he might try and ensure she spends the rest of eternity burning in Satan's Pit until she begins moving her hand and he thinks that, actually, an Unholy Beatification might be in order instead.


	4. libertine- zelda/blackwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, because she knows he’s arrogant enough to misconstrue any gesture of affection as tantamount to a declaration of undying adoration, Zelda stays very firmly on her side of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Zelda Spellman and Faustus Blackwood smutty/fluffy/cute times. Thank you!

It’s been so easy to slip into bad habits since Lady Blackwood died. She shouldn’t be in his  _bed,_  half-dressed and lethargic, should have slipped out the minute he’d rolled off her instead of letting herself get comfortable somewhere she has no business being. But he hadn’t asked her to and his sheets are so gorgeously soft against her bare skin that she doesn’t seem to have the capacity to get up.

Still, she keeps to one side of the needlessly huge bed, careful to be sure that not an inch of her skin is touching his. Zelda has a lot of nightmares but at present, her worst one is that he’ll think she’s angling for more from him, hinting at him that she wants to be the next Lady Blackwood. The issue isn’t that she doesn’t want that (although the title  _really_  wouldn’t be worth the trouble), just that she desperately doesn’t want him to think she does. It would make it so embarrassing when he inevitably chooses some young fertile thing with childbearing hips and a docile nature as his next bride. She can just imagine him trying to let her down gently, voice laden with pity, and it’s unbearable.

So, because she knows he’s arrogant enough to misconstrue any gesture of affection as tantamount to a declaration of undying adoration, Zelda stays very firmly on her side of the bed.

Until, that is, she finds herself being scooped up and pulled across in a thoroughly undignified manner, her back hitting his chest and a drink being pressed into her hand. She doesn’t comment on the movement but takes a grateful sip of the brandy. He’d had a couple before their evening’s recreational activities but Zelda had refused, not willing to let intoxication lower her guard even a little. She drinks it almost eagerly now though, enjoying the taste; a far cry from the whiskey she usually has at home.

‘You know, Faustus, I would never have thought of you as a man who’d choose something sweet for his indulgences’ sweet is not something she associates with those sharp nails and pointed teeth. Sweet certainly isn’t what keeps her coming back time after time even though all reason would suggest staying away.

‘I’ve been indulging in something sweet all evening, haven’t I?’ she can’t see his face as his mouth meets her neck but she’d bet the entire Spellman family fortune that he’s smiling the Cheshire Cat smile that irritates and arouses her in equal measures.

‘Sweet? Hardly. I think you must be confusing me with someone else’ she says dryly and it’s only half a joke.

‘Believe me, Zelda, that would be impossible’ she doesn’t believe him, of course, never takes a word he says at face value; that would be foolish and Zelda might be wildly misguided at times (very rare times) but she’s no fool. He’s a little drunk, she thinks, that’s usually when he gets so verbose but she really doesn’t mind. Drunk and flowery is better than sober and officious. And sometimes when he’s drunk, he gets the urge to spend quite significant periods of time with his head between her legs, something to which she can’t really find it in herself to object.

‘Sweeter than opium and twice as addictive’ he continues, and the urge to roll her eyes conducts an internal battle with the urge to kiss him so she does neither, but instead turns onto her side to face him.

‘And you would know. Libertine.’ He just grins at that, brandy-soaked lips descending until she isn’t sure if the alcohol she’s tasting is coming from his mouth or hers and she isn’t about to stop to find out.


	5. sentiment- zelda/lilith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being so dependent on something called a hazelnut latte has taken some getting used to (to be fair to Mary, they’re really fucking tasty) and she really thinks the mortals should have come up with a way to stop the menstrual cycle by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Madam Satan still using the mirrors in the Spellman house like she did in nightmares episode-but to watch Zelda instead.

Demonic possession has a lot of upsides. Lilith is very much enjoying what pilates has done for Mary Wardwell’s body, for example, and she’s absolutely  _loving_  the hair.

Unfortunately though, it’s not all sunshine and lollipops; being so dependent on something called a hazelnut latte has taken some getting used to (to be fair to Mary, they’re really fucking tasty) and she really thinks the mortals should have come up with a way to stop the menstrual cycle by now. But by far the worst thing is the ceaseless flow of sentimentality.

Lilith had understood it when she kept getting flashes of grief for Ted and Jacqueline Wardwell (killed in a car accident ten years ago; delightfully messy, apparently) even though it had been monumentally irritating. It had even made sense when she kept getting this swooping, crushing feeling in Mary’s stomach that she’d eventually figured out, after rooting through three different medical dictionaries, was loneliness. She’d seen Mary Wardwell’s memories and it was no surprise that particular emotion was clinging on to the body like a limpet. What she’s started to feel now, though, makes absolutely no sense, shouldn’t be happening- keeping remnants of Mary’s old attachments is bad enough, why in the name of all that’s unholy is she developing  _new ones_?

It could be worse, that’s for sure. Zelda Spellman is at least a very devoted servant of the Dark Lord, and being the aunt of Lilith’s main focus on earth is delightfully convenient. But those definitely aren’t the reasons she wants to wrap Zelda up in a blanket and keep her out of harm’s way for the rest of eternity. She's just so _pretty_. Her hair is shiny, her skin is peachy, she looks like she’d be beautifully soft to touch and Lilith loves the way she gets these lines in her forehead whenever she sees her, wants to run her hand over them and see how they feel beneath Mary’s fingers.

She can’t, though. Lilith might not have a perfect handle on the whole ‘21st century witch with a human body’ thing yet but she definitely knows that if she started touching people’s faces whenever she fancied, it would probably cause more problems than it would solve. And Zelda doesn’t seem to be overly keen to even let Mary Wardwell in her house, let alone anywhere more interesting. So, as far as Lilith could tell, her only option was to keep an eye on her new friend privately. That’s why she’s standing in front of one of Mary’s mirrors now, just watching the rise and fall of Zelda’s chest as she sleeps. Lilith would happily stand here all night, making sure the red-headed witch slumbered peacefully and safely, but Mary’s endlessly irritating body needs rest too. When Lilith finally gives in and lets it sleep, Mary’s brain rewards her with a dreamless unconsciousness until she can wake up and spend another day standing guard over her favourite human.

 

 


	6. reassurance- zelda/lilith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If someone had told Zelda even a month ago that by the end of the year, she'd find herself in some sort of uncategorisable relationship with the Mother of All Evil, she'd have probably had them committed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: could you do one where Lilith finds out about Zelda and Faustus and decides that she must be the best(tm) lover forever

If someone had told Zelda even a month ago that by the end of the year, she'd find herself in some sort of uncategorisable relationship with the Mother of All Evil, she'd have probably had them committed. But here she is, one hand tangled in a weave of dark hair as she straddles two soft thighs, mouth busily occupied in finding the place on Lilith's human body's neck that elicits a gorgeous mewling noise Zelda's come to be very fond of. It's incredible, really, how quickly one can get used to even the most inconceivable of situations and when she feels two busy hands working to unbutton her blouse, Zelda gives a little hum of satisfaction.

  
‘Oh, Zelda, Zelda, Zelda...’ the dark purring tone of Lilith's voice is an instant warning sign and Zelda looks up in confusion, eyes hazy. The tip of Lilith's finger is tracing over a small patch of Zelda's shoulder, her eyes locked on the same spot and Zelda feels the bottom drop out of her stomach. She can't see it with her own eyes but she knows exactly what's drawn her lover's attention; a dark purple blotch on her porcelain skin, carefully marked there by the High Priest of the Church of Night that morning as he'd fucked her over his desk at the Unseen Academy and she'd been too breathless to tell him to be careful.

  
‘Oh, I...’ she begins but she's instantly cut off by a red-taloned finger to her lips.

  
‘No, darling, no excuses. I know exactly what you've been doing. Am I not enough for you, you wicked thing?’   
She doesn't know what to say, how to explain that the frantic, grasping thing she has with Faustus Blackwood is worlds away from whatever's going on between them, but she suspects she doesn't have to. If Lilith really minded Zelda's fairly sure that she'd currently be redecorating the bedroom with Zelda's entrails, not rubbing tantalising circles on her thigh.

  
‘I knew you were insatiable, but really, we've got to have some standards, no? It's not seemly to pass yourself around like a plate of hors d'oeuvres' Zelda huffs and starts to protest but finds herself being kissed before she can. She opens her mouth pliantly, willing to play submission while she waits to see what Lilith's intentions are. In general, these days, she's far more willing to do as she's told than she ever has been in her life. Perhaps that's what always happens to people who find themselves embroiled in a love affair with a mythical figure they've been idolising since their childhood. Really, there should be a support group for this kind of thing. When the mythical figure in question pulls back, she's smiling in a way that Zelda's learned to be very wary of.

  
‘This is such a lovely blouse’ the brunette murmurs, sharp nails scratching against soft skin as she pushes the garment further off Zelda's shoulders.

  
‘Let me guess, it would look better on the floor?’ she quips, aiming for levity but only getting a warning raised eyebrow in response.

  
‘Careful, Zelda; making passes at yourself isn't doing anything to reassure me that I'm not utterly superfluous to your pleasure’ quick as a panther, Lilith’s hand strikes out and the aforementioned blouse is hanging in two neat pieces off Zelda's arms.

  
‘And how exactly would you suggest I reassure you?’ there's that smile again, terrifyingly arousing and arousingly terrifying. Before Zelda's mind can quite catch up to what's happening to her body, she's been flipped onto her back, divested of her skirt, underwear and stockings, and is lying with her legs parted and the Mother of Demons lowering herself to crawl between them.

  
‘What's the phrase? Scream if you want to go faster?’ Her voice is a low, velvet purr and as she bends her head, the part of Zelda's brain that isn't engrossed in pure animal pleasure vaguely reflects that she would never have guessed sleeping with a woman with such a vicious vendetta against men would turn out so terribly well for her. 

 


	7. subtlety- zelda/blackwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s going to kill him. She’s going to kill him and it’s going to be worth the eternity she’ll spend in the Pit because she can’t take another minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: how about Blackwood getting his hands all over Zelda at a church of night/public event - he has to be discrete and she has to try not to react

 

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to kill him and it’s going to be worth the eternity she’ll spend in the Pit because she can’t take another minute. It’s only her cast-iron self-control that’s stopped her thus far from either causing him serious bodily harm or pulling him into the sacristy and making him follow through on the promise his hands are making, but that self-control is very much waning.

An hour ago, she’d thought she was imagining things. That she was so starving for it, her mind was turning innocent, unintentional collisions of their bodies into something sordid, that it was pure coincidence she was seated next to him at dinner. Foolish of her to think anything he does is ever innocent or unintentional. She was put right when one of those sharp nails slid a slow, deliberate path up from her knee to the top of her thigh and back again, puncturing the fine silk of her stocking as it went. Her breath had caught in her throat and she’d tried to catch his eye to give him a look that communicated her displeasure but he was earnestly engaged in conversation about some inane detail of the winter solstice service with Miriam Harcourt and didn’t spare her a glance. He’s kept on for the last thirty minutes, talking away genially to the rest of the gathering and barely even looking at her while his hand scrapes patterns and swirls over every inch of her he can reach under the table.

It’s nothing more than a power trip, Zelda knows. She’s well-acquainted with the way his mind works and she knows full well that he’s getting off on knowing he can be as careless as he likes. The entire coven is so cowed by him, so impressed by his power and his position that even if they were fucking like rabbits on the huge round dinner table, everyone else in the room would pretend there was nothing going on. And she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t getting off on it too. The feeling of his nails on her thigh is delightful but that’s not what’s got her soaking beneath her rather restrictive undergarments. No, Zelda is currently desperate to be pressed up against the nearest hard surface because the man who could make the lives of everyone in the room a living misery with a wave of his hand is currently using that hand to give her pleasure. Part of her wants someone to see, wants someone to know that he’s chosen her. So she’ll kill him if he doesn’t stop but she really, really hopes he doesn’t.

 


	8. surprise- zelda + hilda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, she flatly refuses to believe the evidence of her own eyes. She's spent almost two centuries dodging this particular bullet, surely it can't have hit her now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: How would Zelda react after finding out that she's pregnant?

At first, she flatly refuses to believe the evidence of her own eyes. She's spent almost two centuries dodging this particular bullet, surely it can't have hit her now. But there it is; it's two hours past the witching hour, she's standing over a brewing pot of somewhat inexpertly prepared potion (the idea of asking Hilda for help was unthinkable) and the silver spoon she'd placed in the centre is turning clockwise indicating that, yes, her worst fears are confirmed and yes, there's a bastard growing in her belly. Zelda isn't used to being helpless but that's exactly how she feels as she bangs the side of the pot like a faulty television set, hoping against all logic that the spoon will start moving in the other direction. Obviously, she has no such luck. After determinedly scouring the potion pot by hand for far longer than she needs to, relishing the punishing burn of the hot water pouring over her hands, Zelda traipses back up the stairs to her bed and lies awake in the stark solitude of the night.

She thinks it'll be easy to keep it a secret. Zelda had learned discretion and deception alongside writing and arithmetic in the nursery so it's as natural as breathing for her to lie to her family about why she suddenly can't bear the scent of her favourite perfume or why even a bite of toast can send her careening to the bathroom. Unfortunately, Zelda isn't the only one who was provided with a comprehensive education in mendacity. She may be excellent at covering up the truth but her sister is just as skilled in uncovering it and Zelda doesn't fail to notice the suspicious side glances Hilda gives her every time she recoils from the smell of a pot of coffee. But her little sister doesn't seem inclined to bring it up and Zelda certainly isn't going to oblige. Not when she hasn't even wrapped her head around the idea yet herself. And she certainly has no intention of telling _him._ It would be monumentally embarrassing, running to him cap in hand like a foolish schoolgirl who can't take care of the messes she makes. And she fully intends to take care of this mess all by herself.

As time goes on, though, it becomes harder and harder to do so. Her back starts aching after barely five minutes of movement, her tear ducts seem to activate at the slightest provocation and she can only let her dresses out so many times. In the end, it's something utterly ridiculous that gives her away. The Spellmans are at breakfast, the same as they are every morning, and when Hilda puts down a stack of toast on the table, horror floods through Zelda as she feels tears start to trickle down her cheeks. They fall silently for a moment before she's wracked with a huge, gulping sob and her other family members turn to look at her in astonishment.

‘Auntie Zee? What's the matter?’ Ambrose is sitting nearest to her and pauses with a slice of toast halfway to his mouth to tentatively reach out to pat her arm, like a zookeeper soothing a bear with a thorn in its paw. Another heaving sob overtakes her before she can get any words out but eventually she finds the breath to answer.

‘It's burnt' Zelda manages to stutter out and when her family look at her like she's just grown an extra head, the tears start falling even faster. The other Spellmans all seem frozen to the spot, staring at her in alarm and she can't blame them. It seems like they're all fixed in place for hours, nobody speaking as Zelda continues to weep for absolutely no reason whatsoever, but it's probably less than a minute before she's being piled on by first her niece, then her sister, then her nephew, embraced in six arms that are far more comforting than she'd care to admit.

When Zelda's sobs have faded out and the younger members of the family have mercifully dissipated, Zelda is left alone with her sister and it's unspokenly obvious that her secret is not going to be allowed to remain a secret any longer. Hilda is looking at her with a mixture of concern and disapproval that takes Zelda right back to her schooldays, when her sister would silently judge her for the various bites and bruises that would appear scattered across her body after a late night. At the time, Zelda hadn't cared a jot about Hilda's passive aggressive disparagement, not even bothering to cover her salacious markings. But this, she desperately wishes she could cover up, even just for a little while longer.

‘Zelda... You know I'm trained as well as you are to recognise the symptoms of someone in your _condition_ ' she says the last word pointedly and slowly, the way she talks to Sabrina when their niece is, to quote the girl herself, freaking out. Zelda is about to scoff, deny everything and sweep out of the room in a huff but the tears are still vaguely damp on her cheeks and the idea of escaping into Hilda's comforting familiarity is too tempting to resist. Before she has time to think better of it, she's sunk into Hilda's open arms, another wave of tears washing over her as she lets her sister rock and pet her like she's as small and delicate as the child in her stomach.

‘It'll be fine, Zelda' she only vaguely registers Hilda's words when she closes her eyes, head nestling against her sister's chest as the homey scent of fresh bread, sweet flowers and something else that's just Hilda encloses her. ‘It'll be fine, we'll figure something out. You and me.'

 


	9. competition- zelda + lilith + blackwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda is perfectly aware she has a reputation, at least among her family, for being difficult to please. Nevertheless, there are countless things which bring her pleasure. Good literature, silk stockings, wine older than Ambrose, a particularly lawless game of Canadian ice hockey, spending quality time with her niece, nephew and sister (or idealised versions of them supplied with mute buttons). A visit from Faustus Blackwood isn’t right at the top of the list but it would probably come in somewhere between Black Mass and a really luxurious chocolate cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. for the prompt: Hi, could you write a fic where Blackwood and Madam Satan dispute for Zelda's attention?  
> 2\. This is even crackier than any of these other ficlets, forgive me.

Zelda is perfectly aware she has a reputation, at least among her family, for being difficult to please. It’s not exactly unfounded and she doesn’t exactly mind; after all, if she wasn’t there to insist on perfection at every turn, the Spellmans would probably be no-account, undistinguished hedge witches by now. She might be more exacting than her niece and nephew would prefer but nevertheless, there are countless things which bring her pleasure.  Good literature, silk stockings, wine older than Ambrose, a particularly lawless game of Canadian ice hockey, spending quality time with her niece, nephew and sister (or idealised versions of them supplied with mute buttons). A visit from Faustus Blackwood isn’t right at the top of the list but it would probably come in somewhere between Black Mass and a really luxurious chocolate cake. Or at least it would if he were doing something a little more interesting than talking, hand resting relatively innocently on her knee with only the occasional circling of his thumb to suggest that it might be headed anywhere more exciting.  

He’s still ceaselessly chattering away, pausing only to let Zelda drop in a few studied noises of agreement on occasion, when the parlour door opens, letting a draft of cold air into the otherwise sleepily warm room. The draft is accompanied by the appearance of Sabrina, flushed with the cold from the wintery outside and looking more like she belongs on a mortal Christmas card than a poster child for the Unseen Academy. Zelda’s habitual mixture of fondness and exasperation that she associates solely with her niece swells over her but it’s quickly dampened when her attention flickers to the other person who’s moved into the doorway. Zelda scrambles to sit up as straight as possible, crossing her legs to displace Father Blackwood’s hand from her knee like a child caught with its hand in some sort of demonic biscuit jar.

‘Auntie Z, I’m sorry, I thought you were at the Academy!’ Sabrina’s bright smile fades just a little when she spots the High Priest but it’s nothing compared to the way Zelda can feel her own demeanour slipping into something approaching mania as she tries desperately not to meet any pair of eyes except those belonging to her niece.  

‘I could say the same about you’ Zelda retorts, far more sharply than she needs to. It’s difficult to keep her eyes on Sabrina as she speaks, but she manages to resist the magnetic pull of the Mother of Demons, even though she can feel the woman’s gaze burning a hole into the side of her head.  

‘Miss Wardwell wanted to meet up to see how I was getting on at my new school so I thought I’d spend the night at home, if that’s okay with you?’ Sabrina’s eyes dart almost imperceptibly towards Faustus Blackwood and Zelda catches the girl’s meaning; from Sabrina’s point of view, she’s obviously aware of how her aunt might feel about the High Priest of the Church of Night catching them playing host to either a mortal or an excommunicate, even if Sabrina herself couldn’t give a damn and Zelda feels a rush of affection. She turns to Faustus, about to explain that “Miss Wardwell” is one of Sabrina’s old teachers and hint that he should return at a more opportune moment but when she sees his expression, the lie dies in her throat. Zelda is very well acquainted with Faustus Blackwood’s face and how it telegraphs the emotion beneath even when its owner is trying his best to prevent it. It’s immediately apparent to her that he’s putting some considerable effort into stopping the face in question contorting in pure fury. His effort has been mostly successful but his eyes are still burning with a rage Zelda really doesn’t understand. Her initial instinct is that Sabrina has once again done something to incur his displeasure but when she tracks his line of sight, it brings her not to her niece but to the prepossessing figure of the woman next to her and Zelda finally meets her other lover’s gaze. In sharp contrast to Faustus’s blank-faced fury, Lilith is smiling. She really isn’t sure which is the most responsible for the sharp twinges of panic bubbling away in her stomach but the end result is not particularly pleasant. Briefly wondering if this is how women feel just before they faint in those awful mortal romance novels Hilda loves, Zelda gathers herself to answer her niece.

‘You don’t have to ask to stay here, sweetheart. And Father Blackwood was just leaving’ she digs her nails into his shoulder blade as surreptitiously as she can to spur him to do so. He doesn’t seem inclined to budge, however, his eyes still trained on Sabrina’s ostensible teacher as his own hand slips down to close in on her hip in a grip that’s much harder than seems necessary. Zelda isn’t accustomed to helplessness but she’s becoming well-acquainted with it very rapidly. And she feels utterly submerged in it when the bride of Satan opens her mouth.  

‘Sabrina, can you wait for me in the kitchen? I just have the tiniest of questions to ask your lovely auntie’ Lilith’s voice is a velvety, sultry purr and Zelda is fairly certain she can physically feel the blood pounding through every inch of her body. Sabrina doesn’t seem to notice her aunt’s panic but just shrugs in typical teenage fashion at the woman she knows as Mary Wardwell and casts one more concerned glance at Zelda before trudging out of the room again. Lilith is still standing in the doorway with that predatory grin on her face, Faustus still has his hand resting firmly on her back and what Zelda wouldn’t give at this moment to be a corpse in the morgue is not worth having. The silence as Sabrina’s footsteps fade away is so painful that she’s almost (almost) grateful when the High Priest breaks it.  

‘I know this is an irregular request, Zelda, but could you perhaps give me a moment with Miss Wardwell?’ Faustus spits out the last two words as if they’re poison in his mouth and Zelda narrows her eyes. Whatever cause he has for displeasure with a woman whom he shouldn’t know exists, she needs to find out.

‘Absolutely not’ his eyes flicker with anger again, and Zelda feels rather than sees Lilith push the door closed and move into the centre of the room.

‘Zelda, there are forces at work here that you don’t understand’ his voice is intense and he takes her hand in a gesture that she knows by now is self-interest masquerading as concern. So he’s already perfectly cognisant of the fact that the mother of all evil has insinuated herself into the lives of the Spellmans. Of course he is.

‘I understand perfectly’ she responds, patting his hand condescendingly. It seems to take a minute for the meaning behind her words to sink in for him but when it does his face contorts in fury.  

‘You knew that…’ he flings a vague hand in Lilith’s direction, seemingly unable to find the words to sum up “your thorn-in-my-side niece’s high school teacher is secretly the Mother of Demons” and, for that at least, Zelda really can’t blame him ‘and you didn’t consider mentioning it to me?!’  

‘Like you mentioned it to me, you mean?’ she sounds calmer than she feels, at least until she feels the warmth of Lilith’s body next to her back that sends her heart bouncing off the walls of her ribcage.  

‘That is completely different. The Dark Lord-’      

‘The Dark Lord doesn’t enjoy having his name taken in vain by greedy, selfish men, Blackwood’  Lillith finally chimes in and Zelda thinks the High Priest might explode. ‘And I hate to interrupt a lover’s tiff but I came here to see Ms Spellman and I don’t believe your presence is required any longer’

If Zelda had thought she was on the verge of spontaneously combusting before, it’s nothing compared to the pure electric shock that starts running through her body when a red-taloned hand curls itself into her hair. Faustus’s hand is still on her back and the combination is too much to bear so she jumps up, scrabbling for a cigarette as she moves over to the fireplace.    

‘Zelda, you cannot be serious’ Father Blackwood’s face is less righteous fury now, more wounded indignation and Zelda just blows out a puff of smoke as she looks at him, as expressionless as she can manage with her heart still thumping like a humming bird’s. ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous this succubus is?’  

The succubus in question turns to the High Priest, stabbing one sharp nail into his chest with a lazy smile.  

‘I think you’ll find that Zelda has a very full picture of exactly how dangerous I can be’ the lasciviousness in Lilith’s voice is plain and Zelda wonders if this might not be some kind of fever dream. Maybe that dreadful sleep demon had come crawling back; it seems like the only reasonable explanation for Satan’s bride and His right-hand man to be sitting next to each other in Zelda’s parlour, both puffing their chests out like peacocks in what she can only describe as a schoolyard tussle for her affection. She certainly feels just as powerless as she had kneeling on her kitchen floor in that terrible dream but as she observes her lovers fighting, Zelda wonders if this particular nightmare is really so dreadful. After all, what’s the point in being so evidently appealing to the ministers of Lucifer if she can’t find a way to turn it to her own advantage?

 


	10. envy- zelda + hilda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda is eleven years old the first time she's able to name the sharp pang in her stomach as envy. Her younger sister is eight, pretty and plump, already a chatterbox, already their parents’ favourite. Hilda is currently charming their mother as they potter round the Spellmans' garden, pointing out unusual butterflies and occasionally picking a sprig of belladonna, while Zelda feigns disinterest and sprawls out on the cast-iron bench at the bottom of the garden. At eleven, she's all gangly limbs and sharp angles, and her mind is sharpening too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: can we have some more Zelda and Hilda something? fluff or angst or anything!

 

Zelda is eleven years old the first time she's able to name the sharp pang in her stomach as envy. Her younger sister is eight, pretty and plump, already a chatterbox, already their parents’ favourite. Hilda is currently charming their mother as they potter round the Spellmans' garden, pointing out unusual butterflies and occasionally picking a sprig of belladonna, while Zelda feigns disinterest and sprawls out on the cast-iron bench at the bottom of the garden. At eleven, she's all gangly limbs and sharp angles, and her mind is sharpening too. She's perfectly aware that her parents prefer her smiling sister to her and although it makes the pit of her stomach churn from time to time, she's largely able to ignore it. Hilda might be the recipient of more affectionate gestures and fond smiles but Zelda receives earned, measured praise or sharp criticism, both of which she knows are worth far more in the long run. True, she occasionally lets her mind wander to what her life would be like if she had her sister's gregariousness. Perhaps she would be holding on to her mother's other hand as they strolled through the Spellman estate, joining in the fun instead of sitting alone memorizing Cyrillic. But ultimately, she knows she would never exchange even an ounce of her brain and her potential for Hilda's niceness. Zelda Spellman is canny enough to know that life is not about niceness, so no, she doesn't envy Hilda for a moment. 

Until, that is, another figure makes its way down from the twisting steps at the back of the Spellman house and comes down into the garden. Edward Spellman is Zelda's partner in crime, her confidante, the person she most looks up to on this earth. He's fifteen, will have had his dark baptism by the time the new year rolls around, and Zelda thinks she would turn her back on Satan himself if Edward told her to. He never would, of course; Edward's devotion to the Dark Lord is one of the things Zelda admires most about him, and she tries to emulate it to the letter. She knows that after his next birthday, Edward will be whisked away to school and so most of her mornings in recent months have been spent convincing him to teach her as much as possible about their church, before his presence in their house becomes a semi-annual event rather than a constant comfort. The majority of witch children learn from their parents, and her mother has given her a basic grounding in spellwork but primarily, the elder Spellmans have focused all their energy on Edward and left the girls to educate themselves. Luckily for all involved, this is something at which Zelda excels, especially with Edward helping her. That's why when, instead of treading his usual path towards Zelda's resting place, Edward stops near the bramble bush and puts his arm around Hilda, cheerfully accepting the berry she offers, something inside Zelda begins to bubble. And when her brother kisses the top of his youngest sister's head and disappears around the corner of the hedgerows, deep in conversation with their mother, the ugly, bubbling sensation rises up through her chest and expels itself from her body in the form of two angry drops of salt water landing on the leather binding of her book, and the curves of her nails digging four crescent moons deep into her palms.

It's not a sensation Zelda has much cause to revisit throughout her life. She makes it her mission, always, to be better, faster, stronger, cleverer; not only than Hilda but than anyone and everyone who puts themselves up against her. It's not as if she ever has to try too hard. The Dark Lord has seen fit to bless her with his gifts and modesty is only for mortals. So it isn't often that she feels that hot ugly spike of envy in her stomach as an adult, or if she does, she's easily able to push it down, tell herself how ridiculous it is. 

It gets harder, however, when Sabrina comes to live with them. The way Sabrina and Hilda cleave to each other sends little tendrils of jealousy weaving through her chest, the way it is always Hilda that Sabrina runs to when she's hurt or in trouble. Nothing of consequence would ever be accomplished in the Spellman household if it weren't for her, and yet every time her niece has a problem, from a stubbed toe to a crush on a boy, Hilda is Sabrina's first port of call. If Zelda is honest with herself, she knows that Sabrina is probably well-justified; the enormity of feeling she has for Sabrina remains known only to herself, and dealing with anything less serious than a decapitated head or a marriage proposal is likely to elicit nothing more from her than dismissal. Knowing this makes it absolutely no easier to deal with. And this is, if anything, worse than when her parents or her brother had favoured Hilda over her- as a child, her response had merely been to hate Hilda, but as she’s grown older, Zelda has discovered that she is no longer able to use hatred as a coping mechanism. She finds herself, instead, not only bitterly jealous of Sabrina's love for Hilda but of Hilda's love for Sabrina. The way her sister tends to and cares for their niece tars the inside of Zelda's stomach black, even though she knows that she'd only have to ask and Hilda would happily be performing the same loving gestures for her. But the words will never come and she chooses instead to blame Hilda for not offering them up, as though her sister could even imagine that such an offering wouldn’t be met with disdain, after a lifetime of being rejected. So, as always, Zelda looks on from a distance, envy curling and diffusing inside of her like plumes of black, bitter smoke. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always open for prompts on tumblr at zeldaspellmann!


End file.
